


Death is not for Real

by Cartwheelrobin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Always a girl John, Demon!Irene, Demon!Moriarty, F/M, Female John Watson, Hunter!Joan, Hunter!John, Hunter!Sherlock, Joan and Sherl as hunters, Kinda, Post!Reichenbach, Pre-Reichenbach, always a girl! John, demon!Sebastian, superlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cartwheelrobin/pseuds/Cartwheelrobin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan Watson depends on her partner, Sherlock Holmes. He's the best at what he does, hunting demons. But what happens when a plan goes wrong and she has to resort to dangerous measures? Her life might be on the line to save his. As long as the King of Hell doesn't win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Times When I knew You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks if you're reading this! I hope you like it. A lot of time was spent on it, but if there are any mistakes, all of them are mine.

_“Don’t you dare go up there! I swear I’ll smite you if you do.” Joan said, her words half loaded with her usual sass and half pleading. The both of them knew the risk of him going into the hospital to meet his opponent. Death; and not for the King of Hell either. Sherlock was the best hunter she knew, but sometimes (in most cases) the job caught up to them._

_Joan did all the heavy lifting, when they were working a job. Sherlock would concoct some brilliant plan, as if it was a science project, to rid a town of whatever they were against that week, then Joan would execute it wonderfully. She knows all of his secrets and him the same with her. That’s the kind of trust you had to have when a crack shot and the most brilliant mind to come out of London decide to hunt demons and monsters for a living._

_“You’re not an angel, Joan. You can’t smite me. Plus, you’re too short to stop me. I need you as security down here anyways, incase my chess mate decides to bring along any friends.” Sherlock drawled in his baritone voice, his words fast, as usual, but flowing._

_Joan rolled her eyes, pushing up the sleeves of her oversize jumper, letting the weight of her modified British Army Browning settle into her hands after she pulled it from the back waistband of her somewhat tight trousers. The night air was cold and deafening, just the way Jim liked it._

 ~

There was brief a moment of hesitation; a battle raging inside of her, debating whether this is just what she wanted, or if this is what he would want. A looked crossed her delicate, but still strong, features; one that gave her the appearance of a pile of leaves about to be blown away by a gust of autumnal wind. Sadly that gust of wind was the memory of her partner. Joan’s small, but resilient hands were shaking, holding onto the photograph of Sherlock Holmes.

It was as simple as digging a hole in the center of the crossroads and making a deal, sealing it with a kiss. Was her soul, or life, worth getting her best friend back from the dead? Yes. The answer was an easy one. Joan was always so willing to give herself up for the ones she loved. No matter the cost, she would at least be able to say goodbye.

Taking one last glance at the picture, she placed it into the box, shutting it. The picture was one she had taken two years ago of him in some funny hat (he called it a death Frisbee).His expression was the same as any expression he wore, disinterested and distant. Joan had had an old polaroid camera, shook out the picture and kept it.

The crossroads was far less dusty then the other ones she had visited before. This one was more earthen, even pleasant. The dark surrounded her, her china-blue eyes, searching around her before she knelt down on her knees on the patchy road, digging a small hole, dirt building up under her finger nails, which were chewed down to the nail beds.

Dread pooled in her stomach as she covered the box with overturned earth, waiting.

~

 

_A pained cry left Joan’s throat as she was slammed against a brick wall outside of the hospital. She let out the equivalent of a growl as she pushed back, her knife entering the ribcage of what she assumed was one Jim’s demons. She didn’t want to exercise him, not yet, also not while he had her against a wall, vulnerable._

_He was tall, well hung and had shaggy, brown hair; well, the man he was possessing did. The demon’s eyes were black and empty, representing their lack of soul or heart. It always made her appreciate the anti-possession rune tattoo she had on her shoulder, covering up an old scar. Sherlock had the same tattoo, only his was placed over his heart._

_“You’re a little small to be a hunter, aren’t you?” He asked, unaffected by the knife wound, only letting out a small yelp of pain. Fantastic,_ someone _hadn’t soaked the blades in holy water the night before, quite unlike he told her he had the night before._

_Joan gave him an exaggerated disappointed look. “You’re a bit dim to be a demon, aren’t you?” She quipped in her usual vivacious tone._

_The demon narrowed his eyes and let out a nasty snarl, his breath smelling like ash. Joan moved her head to the side so she didn’t have to smell it any longer. “You have no idea who you’re speaking to.” The demon said. He was right. She didn’t know his name. Joan never bothered to try and learn their names, unlike Sherlock who knew everything about practically every demon and creature. Demon’s eyes made them the easiest to kill, too. It made her feel for a few moments that there weren’t real people inside of the bodies. That they weren’t humans, but the ones who stole her life away from her._

_She silently prayed that Sherlock would hurry and get out of this damn hospital._

 

_~_

         Joan stood in the cool, autumn air for what seemed like half an hour, before there was any sign of a demon. And when one did show, it wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.

 

Her eyes instantly narrowed and she mentally put up her defensives, hands on her modified Browning.

 

         “Irene Adler.” Joan practically spit out, the small blonde looking up at the sickly gorgeous demon in front of her.

 

         A wicked laugh erupted from Irene’s mouth, one that made Joan feel as if there was the slight dripping of ice cold water running down her; the chill all consuming. “Darling, darling, darling. You don’t let go of any grudges, do you?” Irene asked, looking tall, lean and classy, but still a fiend. Joan wanted to lunge foreword and wrap her hands around her throat, her fingers digging into her windpipe, as if that could crush her somehow.

 

         “That’s not why I’m here. Let’s get this over with.” Joan aforesaid, her voice monotone and hardhearted, but on the inside she was desperate, longing to have Sherlock back. There was an unknown distension inside of Joan that this wasn’t going to turn out well. Not that anything in her life had been well, besides Sherlock, of course.

 

         “Oh, no. Of course I know why you’re here. The brainy one is gone and you want him back. I wouldn’t mind having one more go at him, so I’ll grant you your request, but at a cost.” Irene said, a smug, almost pleased look on her face. Joan was surprised, marginally, about how easy this was all going.

 

         Trepidation finally set into Joan, after a few trains of thought, knowing she wouldn’t be on earth for much longer after this, that her days were already numbered. But this was Sherlock, and she would give her life up for him if she had the chance to, just as he did for her. “What do you want then? My soul?” She asked the femme fettle, of sorts, eager to leave this damned crossroads and have her friend back. The bargaining was always the worst part of the deals.

 

         Another dark chuckle was released and Joan once again felt a shiver down her spine, the blonde hairs standing up on her arms and not just from the cold equinox air. Fear was something she could control, but the simple reactions it caused was not. ”Of course I want your soul. Or maybe you just go to hell, have the dogs drag you off. The real question isn’t what, but how long.”

 

         Those words made Joan anxious. The thought of not having much time left, letting the things she spent her life killing take her own, was repulsive, but worth it for this cause only. “Ten years.” She began, knowing it was a long shot.

 

         “Ten? My dear, do you not remember last time we met? No, I have you in the palm of my hand and I am not letting go of you for a moment. Not that easily. Try again.” Irene said, a sophisticated eyebrow rising up.

 

~

 

         _Joan had been dragged about, hands tied behind her back, bound to a chair that was pulled from the empty hospital. “So, Jo, what do you think it is going be? I bet King Jimmy wins. I have a feeling you don’t think so, though.” Sebastian drawled. That was his name. She had learned after the Jim had called upon him, voice booming down orders from the roof of the hospital. All Joan knew was that Sherlock needed time. That bloody demon Irish bastard._

_Her entire body was throbbing with pain as he hit her hard in the stomach, again. She bit her tongue to hold back an answer. “Hm? No comment then?” Sebastian asked, black eyes seeming almost joyful, if she had to put an emotion to it. “Come on, speak.”_

_The air outside was biting. Snow was falling down from the sky now, just wisp of white. The clean, empty pavement was lightly dusted now, only tainted by her spilt blood._

_“He’ll beat him. He always beats him.” Joan spit out, actually spitting, along with some of her own blood. Her blonde hair was dirty and sticky in some places, from her blood and the person that was playing as Sebastian’s vessel._

_A gruesome laugh erupted from Sebastian’s thin, but large mouth, giving Joan the urge to throw-up. “He doesn’t beat him. He temporarily debilitates him. There is a difference.”_

_“Heaven always beats hell.” She said, more for herself then for him. She had always thought she was going to heaven, when she was a little girl. With all the bad things in her life, her mum hitting her, her father dying in a car wreck, she thought the one good thing in her life would finally come in death. That was until she met Sherlock. Until he saved her from the terrible fortune she thought she was going to fall into._

_Sebastian’s whole demeanor changed and he licked his lips, taking a handful of her hair, lifting the feet of the chair off the ground, barely, so that she was face to face with him. Joan was squirming and gasping out at pain, her scalp feeling as if it was being ripped from her skull. “You’re not going to heaven. You or him. They don’t let_ us _in there. And trust me, you’re no better then any of us.” He stated, a calm solemnity about him. The way he said ‘us’ made Joan cringe a bit, feeling as if he had reached into her chest and gripped at her heart, hard._

_“Now just watch.”_

_~_

“Ten months. You will have ten months. Is that a deal, Miss Watson?” Irene asked, looking far too smug then was suitable for any demon to be sending someone to hell. Joan resisted the urge to snap her neck or exercise her on the spot. That wouldn’t get anything done. She would be back at square one, hopeless, and distraught, like she was four months ago.

 

         There was a moment of reluctance before she answered. Too many emotions were brewing inside of her right now, too much had happened in recent and she was truly unstable. “Deal.” Joan said, chin held high, despite what she was feeling on the inside.

 

         The air had somehow shifted into something much nippier, as if an ivisible freezer had been opened right in front of her. “Well, you do know how to seal one of these deals, don’t you?” Irene asked, knowing Joan knew how this worked, but asked her anyways out of spite or just humor. You didn’t just live with Sherlock Holmes for three years and not know the basics of crossroads demon deals. The condescending tone of Irene’s voice was by far one of the most irritating sounds the hunter has ever heard in her entire life, beside maybe her own mum’s.

 

         “Shut up. Just kiss me and get it over with.” Joan responded, her words spitting venom. Without hesitation, the taller demon had her hand on the back of Joan’s head, her lips a slight brush before they were fully pressed against the smaller’s, lips moving, Joan’s remaining still.

 

         Her breath caught in her throat and she felt a jolt of lightening move its way through her. The deal was made, and her soul was no longer hers. It belonged to someone else, not even someone she liked. Just her providence. The kiss was lasting longer then she wanted to and soon enough, she was pushing back on the demon, small, firm hands meeting the crisp white fabric of Irene’s dress. “Enough.” Joan protested, not letting her blue eyes wander to the sultry demon, or let on that she had been blushing.

 

         “Tah! And ask Sherlock if he wants to have dinner sometime.” Irene said with a wink and then disappeared with a gust of win, leaving Joan all alone at the crossroads.

 


	2. Desperate Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the present, Joan has to face her decisions. Was bringing Sherlock back the right thing to do? While, in the past, the doctor is facing her worst fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay friends ! So, I'm still working on my other stuff, and more chapters should be coming out quickly, but here we go. Please comment, because it helps me write more, if you want more. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

_Sebastian’s grip on Joan’s hair was tight, but not unbearable. Her heart was thrumming in her chest. If only she was just a bit larger, or stronger, she would be able to get out of his hold and the ties around her wrist. Sadly, she was neither of the things she wanted to be. “Eyes up. Keep them up, or I keep them up for you.” Sebastian grumbled, his grip unwavering. Joan took his threat to heart. If Jim had told him to make her watch, he would be doing that with his last breath._

_Once upon a time, Joan had a small ‘thing’ with the demon. Now, she couldn’t even imagine ever loving him. If Jim was Sherlock’s mortal enemy, then Sebastian was her evil ex. Joan struggled a bit more against the hand in her hair. “I’m watching. Jesus, calm down.” She said, feeling the energy drain out of her. A person could only fight so much. She had held up her end of the plan to the best of her ability. Now all she had was to do was trust in Sherlock. Hopefully whatever he was doing on that rooftop was going to get them out of here alive._

_From the top of the building, there was the sound of a gunshot. Joan prayed to a god she barely believed in. Sherlock had taken the colt with him, so there was that; only, he was a terrible shot, so if he missed, they weren’t in much luck there. A figure appeared on the edge of the rooftop, dark curls being stirred by the wind. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his mobile was in hand. That was his main line. He had maybe seven mobiles, but if anyone knew of a hunter directly, they would most likely call him on that one if they had a job. Joan wondered why his mobile was important though…_

_As if on queue, her mobile rang in her pocket. “Do you mind?” She asked, almost a bit bitterly, to Sebastian. If he was to hold her here and make her watch whatever was about to play, then he could at least humor her this much. There was a tense pain in her chest, almost in anticipation. This wasn’t quite their plan. He had never mentioned a mobile call from the rooftop before they had gotten here._

__Sebastian pulled the mobile out and clicked answer, putting it to her ear, a bit harshly, might she add._ _

_“Joan?” Said a deep voice, one so recognizable that it might as well be an extension of her own._

_“I-I’m here.” She said, her voice strained a bit, partially due to the chocking that recently had occurred. “Are you alright? Is everything alright? What is going on?” She asked, frantically trying to get a hold on what was proceeding without her._

_Silence met her on the other end for a moment. A small crack in his voice was overheard before she got an actual response. “This is my note. I’m saying goodbye.”_

_~_

 

    The walk back to the motel was tedious (now she was starting to sound like Sherlock). She tried to gauge what Sherlock’s reaction would be. Outraged and disappointed were two options. He would tell her how she should know better and how he wasn’t worth it, but he was worth it to her. And maybe he would never understand that, but he would at least have to try. At least a little for the ten months she had left.

    The terse fall air was beginning to bite at the exposed skin of her face and ears. She shoved her hands into her pockets for the rest of the walk back, hesitating once she made it to the door. If she entered, she knew he would possibly verbally attack her, maybe even physically. Sherlock wasn’t the sort of person that handled someone risking his or her life, or in her case giving it up, for the other. But the truth of the matter was that he was just better then she. When push came to shove he handled the work well, better then most, if not the best, maybe besides Lestrade.

    With a heavy sigh she clicked open the door, wincing before she even saw him. _He would get over it_ ; she had to keep telling herself.

    Joan didn’t quite expect to see what she had when she walked in. Sherlock had broken at least one of the lamps in the room and was in the process of attempting to punch a hole in the drywall.

    “Sherlock!” Joan called, shutting the door before taking a timid step foreword. He turned swiftly, his green eyes filled with fire, and possibly self loathing. She had to keep telling her self that _he would get over this_. Sherlock was practically stampeding towards her and before she knew it, her shoulders were pinned against the door, his arm cementing her in her spot.

    “You were supposed to let me die, you idiot!” He shouted at her, his face incredibly close to hers. Joan’s never seen so much emotion from him before. Part of her heart was broken, wishing she could take it back, but she couldn’t and she really didn’t want to anyways. Without Sherlock she was just a broken half. He may not be conventional, but he was hers.

    “None of this was part of the plan! What happened to the plan?” She asked him, holding her chin high, as if it would fight off his harsh words. His eyes didn’t falter from hers, the rage still very much evident in his glare. Joan didn’t know how to react under such ridicule. Her only response could reasonably be the same amount of rage. One of her faults was her temper.

    Something that sounded somewhat like a rumble escaped from his throat. He seemed to calm, if only a little. “How long do you have? Hm? And who has your soul then, Joan? Some small demon working for someone larger at a crossroads? You’re very ignorant. I died to keep you alive, and here you are, bringing me back only to die. You’re foolish, dumb, and thick. I can’t-“ She cut him off quickly, before his tirade got any more vicious.

    “Stop it! Stop shouting at me! It’s useless. You’re not dead anymore and I’ve got ten months left. It’s not as if I was going to live that long anyways. Say thank you and move on. Or don’t even say thank you. I just don’t want to spend the next ten months being shouted at. Please.” Her words were softer towards the end of her small speech. Joan’s heart ached. How was she supposed to mange any of this? His irritable mood would pass. She would just have to wait him out. Hopefully he would get over this sooner then not.

    Sherlock’s glare let down a bit, but not all the way. “Fine. We’ve got work to do.” And with that he turned from her, letting up his arm across her chest.

~

__

_“SHERLOCK!” Joan screamed, over and over until her throat was sore. Sherlock had tossed his phone to the side and Joan could practically feel Sebastian’s smirk as his grip loosened on her. She watched as his body plummeted to the ground, a soft thud and possibly the faint sound of bone on pavement. The plan had not gone like they wanted it to. They had defiantly not planned on getting Sherlock killed, or, him killing himself._

__A chuckle was released from behind her and she almost lashed out, or maybe she would have if her wrist weren’t still bound. Still, a scream wasn’t held back; a sound filled with rage, disappointment and grief. Sebastian was still here and Jim seemed to be gone for now. Either she was going to die also or wasn’t important enough to even be killed. “Just…Just let me go. Your job is done. There is nothing left for me to do.” She said, sounding defeated._ _

_“I’m not an idiot, love. But, neither are you. Don’t come looking for me. Or Jim.” Sebastian said, dragging her chair behind him until she recognized that she had been placed in an alley. He set the chair down and kicked it to the side. She felt the concrete collide with the side of her face. Joan waited until she couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore and got out of the poorly tied bonds._

_She stood up, rolling out her wrist and shoulders, then kicked her chair, breaking off one of the legs against the brick wall beside her. She let out a cry of indignation and sank to her knee, staring blankly in front of her. Sherlock was gone. Obviously Jim had made him do it, but she didn’t know how or why. She had to get him back. She wouldn’t make it without him, there was no possible way she could ignore the unusual things going on around her and go back to a normal life._ No _, a crossroads was her only answer._

_All her emotions came gushing in at once and she held her head in her hands and let go for a moment. The tears started out slowly, and then began flooding her face, her chest heaving with sobs._

 

_She would be able to pick up the body soon, maybe without crying._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More updates should be coming soon. Christmas Break is coming up, so I should be getting faster. Please tell me what you think of this chapter, and what you would like to see.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think! All comments and kudos are appreciated and drive me to write more!


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